Chapter 19
Ripplan
The forge was sweltering even with the doors thrown wide open. Heat radiated from the coals in waves that made the air shimmer. I wiped sweat from my forehead with the back of my arm and studied the bracelet cooling on the anvil.
Gold. Delicate but strong. Etched with the pattern Xrylen had suggested—mountains and sky intertwined, representing the surface world we'd claimed as home. In the center, I'd hammered in a small piece of turquoise the exact color of Tammy's eyes.
It was perfect.
"You're staring at it like it might disappear," Xrylen said from across the forge. He was working on a set of horseshoes, his hammer striking the metal in a steady rhythm. "It's not going anywhere."
"Just making sure it's right."
"It's right." He set down his hammer and crossed to the anvil, picking up the bracelet with careful fingers. He turned it over, examining the craftsmanship with a critical eye. "Better than right. It's beautiful work, brother. She'll love it."
I looked up at him and smiled. "Thanks for your help with this."
"Of course." Xrylen set the bracelet down gently, his expression warm and genuine. "I'm happy for you, Ripplan. Truly. Tammy's brave and loyal and she makes you... softer. In a good way." He clapped me on the shoulder. "You're going to do right by her."
"I'm going to try." I picked up the bracelet, feeling its weight in my palm. "Thurlee's been drilling me on this all week. Apparently, I need to be more romantic."
Xrylen's mouth twitched. "Thurlee's been coaching you?"
"She has." I shook my head, remembering the relentless advice. "Compliments. Flowers. Grand gestures. She kept saying I needed to learn how to show devotion properly, not just claim it." I paused. "She even made me watch some old human movies. Said I should study how the men court the women."
"And?" Xrylen's eyes were bright with amusement.
"And John Wayne actually makes sense." I said it with more conviction than I felt. "He doesn't do flowery speeches. He just shows up, says what he means, and gets the girl. No nonsense. No pretense. Just... honest."
Xrylen laughed—a real, genuine laugh. "So you're taking romance advice from John Wayne?"
I looked down at the bracelet again. "Thurlee said the point isn't to be someone I'm not. It's to show Tammy that I understand what matters to her. That I've put thought into this. That she's worth the effort."
"She is," Xrylen said simply. "And you know that. She knows that too."
I nodded, feeling the certainty settle into my bones. I wasn't naturally romantic. I was rough, blunt, not given to grand declarations. But I could be steady. I could be devoted. I could show up and claim what was mine—and make damn sure she knew how much she meant to me.
"I need to go," I said, tucking the bracelet carefully into my pocket. "Thank you for this. For all of it."
"Good luck, brother." Xrylen grinned. "Go get your mate."
The sun was beginning its descent toward the mountains when I reached the stables. Golden light slanted through the open doors, illuminating dust motes that danced in the air. The smell of hay and leather and horses was familiar, comforting.
And there she was.
Tammy stood beside Daffodil, one hand resting on the mare's neck, her face turned toward the paddock where a few horses grazed in the evening light.
She wore dark jeans that fit her perfectly, scuffed brown boots, and a cream-colored shirt with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows.
Her cowboy hat—the one she'd bought in Leadville—sat at an angle on her head, and her hair fell in loose waves over her shoulders.
She looked like she belonged here. Like she'd been born to this life.
Like she was mine.
My chest tightened with something fierce and possessive and tender all at once.
She turned when she heard my footsteps, and her face lit up with that smile—the one that made my heart do stupid things.
"There you are," she said. "I was starting to think you'd forgotten about our ride."
"Never." I crossed to her and pulled her into my arms, kissing her thoroughly. She tasted like mint and something sweet—probably the cookies Thurlee had been baking earlier. "You look beautiful."
She laughed against my mouth. "I look like a ranch hand."
"You look like my mate." I pulled back just enough to meet her eyes. "Ready to ride?"
"Always." She glanced at Starlight, already saddled and waiting. "Where are we going?"
"You'll see."
Her eyes narrowed playfully. "You're being mysterious."
"Maybe."
"Should I be worried?"
"Definitely not." I lifted her onto Daffodil's saddle with ease, then swung up onto Starlight. "Trust me?"
"Always," she said again, softer this time.
We rode west, following the trail that wound through the pines and aspens toward the mountains. The sun painted everything gold and amber, and the air smelled like sage and wildflowers and the promise of summer.
Tammy rode beside me, comfortable in the saddle now, her posture relaxed and confident. She'd come so far from that first terrified lesson. Now she moved with Daffodil like they were one creature, anticipating the mare's movements, responding with subtle shifts of weight and pressure.
"This is the path from our first lesson," she said, glancing over at me. "The one that goes to the waterfall."
"It is."
"I love that spot." Her voice was wistful. "It's so peaceful. And it reminds me of—" She stopped, color rising in her cheeks.
"Of what?"
"Of when things changed between us." She met my eyes. "When you told me about the underground. About why you needed the sky."
I remembered that ride. How she'd opened up about Arlo, about wanting something different. How I'd found myself telling her things I'd never told anyone outside my family.
How I'd looked at her and realized she was different from any human I'd ever met.
"Things did change that day," I said quietly.
"For the better?"
"Definitely for the better."
She smiled, and we rode in comfortable silence for a while, the only sounds the steady rhythm of hoofbeats and the wind moving through the trees.
The trail climbed gradually, winding through stands of ponderosa pine and Douglas fir. Wildflowers bloomed in patches of sunlight—Indian paintbrush in brilliant red, lupine in deep purple, columbine in delicate white and blue.
"It's so beautiful here," Tammy said softly. "I never get tired of looking at it."
"Neither do I." But I wasn't looking at the landscape. I was looking at her.
She caught me staring and laughed. "What?"
"Just thinking about how lucky I am."
"Ripplan." Her voice was teasing, but I saw the emotion in her eyes. "Are you getting sentimental on me?"
"Maybe." I urged Starlight closer until our legs were nearly touching. "Is that a problem?"
"Not at all." She reached over and took my hand, squeezing gently. "I like this side of you."
We crested a rise, and the waterfall came into view.
It cascaded down a rocky cliff face in a silver ribbon, pooling in a clear basin before continuing downstream. The sound of rushing water filled the air, and mist rose in delicate clouds that caught the evening light.
But it wasn't the waterfall that made Tammy gasp.
It was the picnic.
A blanket had been spread on the grass near the water's edge—one of Thurlee's good quilts, the one with the star pattern.
Lanterns hung from nearby tree branches, not yet lit but ready for when darkness fell.
A wicker basket sat in the center of the blanket, and I could see the edges of plates and glasses peeking out.
"Ripplan." Tammy's voice was breathless. "What is this?"
"Dinner." I dismounted and moved to help her down from Daffodil. "I thought we could use a nice evening."
"You did this?" She was staring at the setup, her eyes wide. "You set all this up?"
"I had help." I glanced toward the trees where I knew Thurlee, Carter, and Dutton were hiding, watching to make sure everything was perfect before they left. "But the idea was mine."
"This is—" She turned to me, and I saw tears shining in her eyes. "This is the most romantic thing anyone's ever done for me."
My chest tightened. "It's just a picnic."
"It's not just a picnic." She cupped my face in her hands. "It's perfect."
I heard rustling in the trees—Thurlee and the others making their exit now that Tammy had seen everything. I'd thank them later. Right now, all I cared about was the woman in front of me.
"Come on," I said, taking her hand. "Let's eat before the food gets cold."
Thurlee had outdone herself.
The basket was packed with all of Tammy's favorites—fried chicken that was still warm, biscuits so light they practically floated, potato salad with extra pickles the way she liked it, fresh strawberries, and a bottle of wine pilfered from Brylan's private collection.
We ate as the sun sank lower, painting the sky in shades of pink and orange and deep purple. The waterfall provided a constant, soothing backdrop, and the air grew cooler as evening settled in.
Tammy leaned back on her hands, her face tilted toward the sky. "I could stay here forever."
"We can come back whenever you want."
"Promise?"
"Promise." I set down my plate and shifted closer to her. "Tammy, there's something I need to ask you."
She turned to look at me, and I saw curiosity and something else—anticipation, maybe—in her eyes. "Okay."
My heart was hammering. I'd faced down hostile humans, dangerous animals, the uncertainty of life on the surface. But nothing had ever made me as nervous as this moment.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out the bracelet.
Tammy's breath caught. "Ripplan—"
"In Orc culture," I said, my voice rough, "when a male finds his mate, he gives her a bracelet.
It's a symbol of his commitment, his protection, his love.
" I held it up so she could see the etched pattern, the turquoise stone.
"I made this for you. Well, Xrylen helped with the metalwork, but the design is mine. "
She was staring at the bracelet, her hand pressed to her mouth.